


Extra Credit

by cassie_black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Partners, Community: hd_glompfest, Confident Draco Malfoy, Forced Proximity, Frottage, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: Harry's really not a fan of team building exercises, but he might just make an exception for this one.





	Extra Credit

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a glomp for kitty_fic back in 2016 -- I'm finally getting around to reposting all my old fics here!

**Author/Artist:** Beta:  
**Glomp For:**  
**Title:** Extra Credit  
**Pairing(s):** Harry/Draco  
**Summary:** Harry's really not a fan of team building exercises, but he might just make an exception for this one.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Warning(s):** None  
**Epilogue compliant?** EWE  
**Word Count:** ~3500  
**Author's/Artist's Notes:** As always, thank you to the mods for running this wonderful fest, and for their endless tolerance and patience!! Thank you to my beta for being available at incredibly short notice several times. And thank you to for your endless fandom efforts. Hopefully this will leave you feeling thoroughly glomped!

 

"It's about trust," their instructor says as he assigns them into pairs. "About building relationships with your teammates."

"It's about bollocks," Ron says from somewhere behind Harry, because naturally they were the first to be split up.

Harry shares the sentiment, hates this kind of team building crap, but he doesn't reply. He's far too busy watching a silvery rope bind him to Draco Malfoy for the foreseeable future. It's like potions class all over again, and Snape is having one final laugh at Harry's expense from beyond the grave.

The rope glows brightly then vanishes. Harry gives a hopeful tug, but it's all in vain. The rope might no longer be visible, but from the way Malfoy's arm jerks along with his, its effects are obviously still in place.

Auror Kettlewell makes his way around the room, testing their bonds. Harry's never minded him before – he was one of the more reasonable tutors in Auror training – but he's definitely rethinking his opinion now.

"The bonds will allow for the removal of clothes," Auror Kettlewell continues, and ignores the various sniggers this produces.

Malfoy doesn’t snigger – of course he doesn't – but when Harry chances a look in his direction finally, there's a smirk on his face and Harry just knows there's no way this will end well.

Each pairing is then handed a pack of cards, full of questions, topic suggestions, all designed to help them know their partner. Harry almost laughs out loud at that. If there's one thing he doesn't lack when it comes to Draco Malfoy, it's knowledge. After seven years at Hogwarts – eight, if you count that aborted seventh year – and another six months in the Auror Academy, he's pretty sure his knowledge of Malfoy is second only to his parents. 

They might not be friends exactly, but Harry _knows_ him. Although he will admit a small amount of surprise at how well Malfoy is taking this. They're about to spend three days in each other's pockets, almost literally – maybe Malfoy's finally learning to hide his emotions. Which is a shame. Harry's always rather enjoyed that flushed look of outrage. Not that he'll be admitting that out loud any time soon.

"What if we have to piss?" It's Ron, of course, and because it's Ron, it comes out louder than intended.

"Then you'll either become experts in looking the other way, or become really close friends."

Auror Kettlewell's definitely fighting a grin this time, and not very successfully. But Harry's more distracted by the feel of Malfoy's breath on his neck as he murmurs, "Which one d'you think we'll be?"

Harry swallows hard and tries to will the flush from his cheeks. Malfoy huffs a laugh and the warmth of his breath ghosts over Harry's skin again. It's very distracting. Harry wants to pay attention. Actually, what he wants to do is go back eight hours and not get out of bed. But he did, and now he's tied to Draco Malfoy for the next three days. And Malfoy seems to have begun his plan to drive Harry crazy already.

They're released early. Which, given that it's a Friday, should be cause for celebration. But this is definitely not the way Harry saw his weekend going, and he has no idea where they go from here.

Malfoy, it seems, has no such difficulties. A sharp tug on their bond, a brief "Don't dawdle, Potter," and he's all but dragging Harry from the room.

Harry follows for a moment before his pride catches up and reminds him he should at least offer a token protest. "Where are we going?" he demands, even as he continues to follow.

Malfoy stops dead without warning, because he's a complete bastard, and Harry tumbles straight into him.

"Falling for me already?"

Harry wants to be mad, but there's a gentle teasing to Malfoy's tone, and careful hands steady his balance. But he can't let it go entirely.

"You're not exactly my type, Malfoy," he says, and earns an amused smirk in return.

"Please, I'm _everyone's_ type." Malfoy says it without a hint of irony and then he's on his way again.

It takes a few moments for Harry to realise he still hasn't got an answer to his question. "Where are we going?" he repeats, and follows up with a sharp tug on their bond.

"Pub," Malfoy replies without stopping. "I don't know about you, but I think that _this_ ," he gestures with their joined wrists, "calls for alcohol, and lots of it."

And that, Harry thinks, is the best idea Malfoy's had in a long while. He can't avoid the inevitable humiliation this exercise is bound to bring, but maybe with enough alcohol he'll be too drunk to care, or remember.

***

After his fourth pint, Harry is so convinced that this was a brilliant idea of Malfoy's, that he actually tells him so.

Malfoy, who has surprisingly matched him drink for drink, smiles lazily in return. "I have my uses."

Harry pauses, drink halfway to his mouth, then gestures it in a kind of salute at his companion. "So you do," he agrees. The panic from earlier seems much more distant through the comforting haze of alcohol. Or rather, it does until Malfoy's next words.

"So," he says, running the fingers of his free hand through the condensation on his glass. 

"So?" Harry prompts when nothing more is forthcoming.

"We should probably discuss how this is going to work while you're still in a fit state to make decisions."

"Hey! I can hold my drink."

Malfoy looks pointedly at the stain on Harry's shirt, caused by a spillage of pint number three. "Of course you can." There's a faint smile around the edges of his lips, and Harry can't help but wonder if he really does sound fond or if it's just the beer at work again.

"Work?" Harry frowns at their joined arms, so close on the table top that it would look almost romantic to a casual observer. "I figure we just have to make it through the weekend without killing each other. Then go back on Monday and tell Kettlewell how well we've bonded."

"Well, there's that, obviously," Malfoy agrees. "But that's three days away. I assume you'll want to sleep at some point during that time."

Harry gets what he's saying now and chokes on his own drink. He's going to have to share a bed with Malfoy. Malfoy, who no doubt has some extravagant four-poster in that fancy manor of his, and there's just no way—

"I'm not staying at yours," Harry blurts out. Round about the same time that Malfoy says,

"I think it would be best to stay at your place."

"You want to stay at mine?" Harry repeats, baffled by the suggestion.

"Well," Malfoy smiles a little, "I think _want_ might be pushing it, but given the alternative, I think yours is the better option for the duration of this…experiment."

Even though it's what he wants and wild horses couldn't drag him to Malfoy Manor, Harry still feels a little stung. He'd expected Malfoy to put up a fight at least. "Ashamed to be seen with me or something?" he asks, and knows he's being ridiculous – they aren't dating, or anything like it.

Malfoy leans a little closer over the table. Thankfully he seems more amused than anything. "Potter, do you _want_ to spend the weekend with my parents?"

"Fuck no!" The words are out before Harry's brain has chance to stop them. The sound bad to his own ears, never mind Malfoy's. "Sorry," he mutters, gaze fixed on the table.

"It's fine." But the slight sharpness in Malfoy's tone says it's maybe not completely.

The mood falls a little then, and they finish their drinks in silence. It's not entirely uncomfortable. If anything, Harry's frantically trying to remember if he's left anything incriminating on show in his bedroom – it's not like he's going to get the chance to hide it now, with Malfoy as his shadow.

Just as he's wondering if he should suggest another pint, Malfoy gets to his feet. "Come on. Let's go."

Given that they're attached, Harry has little choice but to get up as well, and finds himself, once again, stumbling along in Malfoy's way. 

They're outside the pub in the crisp night air of Diagon Alley before he has chance to ask, "What the hell was that?"

"Blaise Zabini," is Malfoy's succinct reply.

Harry frowns. "I thought you were friends?"

"We are."

"I don't understand." Harry's not sure if it's the beer or the way that Malfoy's being deliberately obtuse, but this doesn't make sense. "Why are you avoiding him then?"

"Because he'll get enough mileage out of this afterwards. I don't need to deal with him now."

It's a fair point, Harry thinks. He has definitely plans to avoid Hermione for the next three days. Ron will be easier – he's got his own shadow to deal with.

"Fair enough, " he says, then produces his wand and slips his free hand around Malfoy's waist. There's just time to see Malfoy's eyes widen with something before the world around them shifts, and they're outside Grimmauld Place.

"A little warning next time," Malfoy says, and steps out of Harry's grasp.

"Sorry."

"I remember this place," Malfoy comments as Harry pushes open the front door. He peers inside. "Looks a lot different now, though."

"No dead elf heads," Harry agrees.

Malfoy shudders. "I hated those damn things."

They stand awkwardly in the hallway for what feels like forever, until Harry works up the courage to ask, "What now?"

Malfoy grins, knife sharp. "Take me to bed."

There's no disguising the hot flush that climbs up Harry's cheeks.

"Too easy, Potter." Malfoy gives an amused shake of his head.

"Whatever," Harry mutters. Then takes his opportunity to drag Malfoy around, towing him up the stairs at speed.

His bedroom is blessedly tidy. Kreacher has even changed the sheets, almost as if he knew. Malfoy looks around and Harry waits for the inevitable comments, but none come. They undress in silence, both leaving on their underwear by unspoken agreement, and after an awkward bathroom visit that Harry will never talk about again, he finds himself in bed with Draco Malfoy.

Hermione would have a field day if she could see them, given all her theories on Harry's 'Malfoy obsession'.

It's silent and uncomfortable, and Harry's wondering how long he's going to have to lie there before alcohol or sleep takes hold. Fortunately, his bed partner has planned ahead.

"Here." Malfoy passes over a small vial of Dreamless Sleep. "I grabbed these in the bathroom. Thought it might make the situation a bit easier."

As Harry feels the world start to go fuzzy around him, he realises there are worse people he could have been saddled with.

***

The next morning saw a repeat of the awkward bathroom encounter, only with added showering embarrassment this time. Harry wasn't a prude – they had communal showers at Hogwarts – but showering one-handed while only a shower curtain separated him and Malfoy was something altogether different. Malfoy's offers to 'scrub his back' did not help either. Harry did his best to rise above, but he was finding this version of Malfoy, particularly the 'naked and in his shower' version, increasingly hard to ignore.

It didn't help when he had to lend Malfoy clothes to wear. In their haste to the pub, the need for clean clothes had been overlooked, and the sight of Malfoy eating breakfast, dressed in Harry's hoodie and too-short jeans caused a warm twisty sensation in the pit of Harry stomach that he tried hard not to examine.

"How come Granger lets you keep an elf?"Malfoy asks around a fresh slice of toast – Kreacher had been only too happy to wait on the 'Malfoy boy'.

"I think _lets_ is a bit much." Harry gulps greedily at his coffee. "Strongly disapproves would be more appropriate."

Malfoy arches a brow, clearly amused. "Potter, you rebel."

It's on the tip of Harry's tongue to point out that Hermione isn't his boss or his mother, but instead he goes for another slice of toast. Or he tries to, rather, because Malfoy has raised his mug for a drink at the same time and the bond will only stretch so far.

"Shit!"

There's a rapidly spread stain on Malfoy's sweatshirt.

"Other hand, Potter," Malfoy chides, whilst siphoning the liquid up with his wand.

"Sorry," Harry mutters sheepishly. "I'm still half asleep."

"You're not going back to bed, so don't get any ideas."

"What are we going to do?" Harry asks, because his usual weekend plans of football and beer with Ron are clearly out of the window.

From the look on his face, Malfoy has as much of an idea about that as Harry does. They might have known each other for years, but it's not like they ever socialise. The only thing Harry knows they have in common is Quidditch, and flying a broom is really not an option for them right now.

They settle, in the end, for the TV, and Harry introduces Malfoy to the wonders of Netflix. He was familiar with the concept of TV – few in the wizarding world escape without some Muggle influences now – but the concept of marathoning an entire TV show was still a mystery.

After several aborted attempts, Malfoy finally deemed Suits to be an appropriate offering, and, excepting the occasional awkward toilet break, most of the day passed in the company of Mike and Harvey.

It wasn't the most comfortable of positions: pressed side-by-side, unable to move apart or lounge on the sofa. Harry bore it stoically. Malfoy, as was to be expected, not so much.

First it's his head on Harry's shoulder. A shock at first, but Harry makes no comment. He rather likes it, truth be told. The fidgeting that follows is not so nice.

"Can't you sit still for five minutes?"

"I've been still for hours," Malfoy protested. "You have the most uncomfortable sofa ever."

Harry huffs. "You wanted to watch the whole season. We can do something else instead." He raises the remote to turn the TV off, but Malfoy slaps his hand away. 

"I'm watching that."

"What do you want then?" Harry asks tiredly – how had he forgotten how exhausting Malfoy could be?

"I just want…" Malfoy shifts around some more. "Move back. No, not like that. Lean against the arm."

Harry does as instructed, but doesn't quite see the point. "How is this going to be more comfortable?" He's okay, but Malfoy is kneeling on the sofa between his knees – which Harry is carefully not thinking about – and he's facing away from the TV.

Harry's not sure if he's happy or if he regrets asking that question when Malfoy squeezes between him and the back of the sofa, their joined hands between their bodies, and Malfoy's free hand on his stomach. 

"Not a word, Potter," Malfoy says, as his head rests on Harry's chest. 

And just like that they're snuggling, Harry realises. There's really no other word for it. He lets out a breath he's been holding and just goes with it, because Malfoy, as usual, is right. This really is more comfortable. He's just hoping that the Floo is locked, because anyone coming in now would totally misread this situation. And it's really not what it looks like, is it?

***

Harry doesn't remember falling asleep, but he wakes with a stiff neck and a fuzzy head and a pooling heat in his belly. He doesn't remember his dreams either, but they were obviously good ones. He thanks God he'd woken when he did – the idea of having a full blown wet dream with Malfoy only inches away was just…

Malfoy, who wasn't inches away anymore. Who was still pressed along the length of Harry's body and whose fingertips were tracing intricate patterns on the thin fabric of Harry's t-shirt.

Oh.

Not dreams then. Very much a reality, in fact.

Harry keeps his eyes closed a few moments longer. He has no idea what this means, how he's supposed to react. Obviously his body has its own ideas about that, but mostly Harry likes to think with his brain.

"I know you're awake." Malfoy's fingers don't pause in their dance. "I can hear you over thinking."

Harry opens his eyes slowly, meets Malfoy's gaze. The room is only lit by the TV now – how long has he been asleep?

"Stop it," Malfoy says, and that’s all the warning Harry gets before Malfoy's leaning over him, free hand sliding up his neck, angling his jaw, and then they're kissing. Or rather, Malfoy's kissing him. It takes a few moments for Harry to overcome the shock and get with the programme. But he's always been a fast learner.

Harry slides his free hand around the back of Malfoy's neck, fingers tangling in his hair, and pulls him even closer. He can't hold back the gasp that escapes him as Malfoy's tongue slips between his parted lips and slides slickly against his own.

Moments later and Malfoy rolls completely on top of Harry, his lean body cradled by Harry's thighs. Even through their clothes there's no mistaking the press of Malfoy's erection against his own, and Harry raises his hips up off the sofa, desperate to feel more.

Harry swallows down the moan that Malfoy lets out in response. He has his hand under Malfoy's sweatshirt now, blunt nails scraping against the soft skin of his back. Malfoy pulls away for a moment and a strangled, "Fuck!" escapes his swollen lips, before he turns his attention to Harry's neck. He licks a warm stripe over the skin before following up with open-mouthed kisses.

A small part of Harry's mind points out that there's a perfectly good bed upstairs – several, in fact – and this would be vastly improved by less clothes. But then Malfoy rolls his hips and all ability or desire to think leaves Harry behind. So he goes with his instinct and wraps his legs around Malfoy's hips, an action greatly approved of if the sharp nips along his jaw line are any indication. Raising his hips off the sofa to meet Malfoy's own thrusts, Harry tugs on Malfoy's hair, dragging him back up for increasingly desperate kisses. 

It seems like moments later when Malfoy's body tenses, taut like a bow. His cheeks are flushed, head thrown back, and Harry flicks his tongue over the bared skin, tasting the salty tang of sweat as Malfoy's hips stutter against his own. 

Then Malfoy leans forward, damp forehead pressed to Harry's. Harry watches him from close up, can't help wondering who else has had the chance to see Malfoy this raw, this open – the dark sweep of lashes against flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen mouth, and usually-perfect hair now completely dishevelled.

Harry can't work out how it's possible to suddenly want something so bad, but he does. He wants Malfoy badly. Almost as much as he wants to get off right now. He shifts his hips slightly, just a gentle reminder, but Malfoy's always been a smart one. In a flash his lips are warm and slick against Harry's mouth, teeth scraping his bottom lip, and his free hand slides between their bodies, palming Harry's cock through his jeans.

It takes an embarrassingly short time, just a few firm sweeps of Malfoy's palm, before Harry feels the familiar heat burst in his belly. He grabs on tight to Malfoy and his choked sob is swallowed by greedy lips.

Malfoy finally slumps forward onto Harry's chest, and they lay like that for a few moments – tired, sticky, but definitely sated.

"We should probably clean up," Harry suggests after a while. Because as comfortable as the cuddling is, the mess in his jeans is decidedly not so.

Malfoy pulls back a little and watches him carefully. It's the first time Harry's seen him look less than completely confident.

"Shower?" Harry prompts – and he means both of them this time. No point being shy when they've both just made each other come in their pants, is there?

A slow grin curves Malfoy's lips. "And maybe next time we can make it to an actual bed?"

"There's going to be a next time?" Harry had a feeling they were heading that way, but he wants to make sure.

Malfoy presses several kisses along Harry's jaw line before he replies. "I plan on there being quite a few next times."

Eventually, after enthusiastic rounds two and three, and yet another shower, Harry lies in his bed, Malfoy wrapped around him like a blanket, and grins up at the ceiling. This probably wasn't what Auror Kettlewell had in mind when he said build relationships with teammates, but there's no denying he and Malfoy have aced that particular test. 

It probably isn't the sort of result they can claim extra credit for, though.

***


End file.
